


Rewind

by rowenaaine



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 02:59:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17890241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowenaaine/pseuds/rowenaaine
Summary: In the aftermath of the chemical bath.





	Rewind

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one-shot, not connected in any way to my other fics.

The harsh beep and hiss of the monitoring equipment had long become an ignored background noise to Bruce Wayne. 

He sat stoically, the same way he did nearly every night, next to the threadbare hospital bed in the Green Zone. Consumed by guilt, Bruce watched and waited and _willed_ the man in the bed to wake from his coma.

But nothing changed. 

Until one night everything did.

Bandaged fingers twitched first; Bruce caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and thought he'd imagined it. But, it happened again, followed by a great draw of breath, as one would drag oxygen into the lungs after nearly drowning. Bruce was on his feet and ready to call the doctor when the man's eyes opened. Rather than jinx the moment, Bruce moved closer and met the man's green-eyed gaze; heavy-lidded and only partially focused.

"Wa-"

Bruce leaned in, trying to decipher the sound - a rasp of a syllable, left hanging and incomplete.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"Wa-"

Suddenly Bruce felt like a moron. The man was asking for water, of course. He quickly turned to the bedside stand and grabbed the cup of water that had been there, languishing. It hadn't been used since the patient arrived, but it hadn't evaporated either. It was tepid; room temperature and probably metallic tasting, but a man as thirsty as this patient must be would hardly care. Carefully situating the tip of the straw to the man's chapped and swollen lips, Bruce watched as water was slowly but surely dragged up the straw. He took it away when the man tried to turn his head.

"I know this is a really stupid question, but how do you feel?" Bruce said as clearly as he could, heart pounding in his ears as he sat back down next to the bed.

To his surprise, the man answered.

"Drugged." The man blinked, vision clearing a bit. 

"Yeah, they've got you on morphine. It's for the best, really."

"Hmm." 

Bruce didn't know what to do next, but he waited patiently.

"Where..."

"You're in what passes for a hospital, in the Green Zone." When the man didn't seem to react, Bruce added, "in Gotham."

A slow nod, followed by, "How, uh..."

"How long have you been here?" Bruce chided himself for being so obtuse. What else could he be asking? "Two months."

"Months?"

"Yes. What do you remember?"

The man shook his head, and Bruce's heart sank. 

"I should go get the doctor. They'll want to know you're awake."

"Please. My name?" 

Bruce's first reaction was to leave without answering. He wasn't ready to handle a case of amnesia, real or imagined. But, what harm would it do tell the man what he wanted to know?

"Jeremiah. Your name is Jeremiah."

The man turned his head and stared at the wall. He appeared to be thinking, hard. Then he nodded.

He knew he would hate himself for asking, especially since he knew the answer, but Bruce asked anyway. "Do you know who I am?"

The man looked carefully at him and after a moment of hesitation, he nodded. "Bruce."

Bruce nearly lost his footing. His mouth dropped open and he stood dumbfounded for what felt like an eternity. Then he dropped back into the chair and gently touched a finger to the bandaged hand closest to him. 

"That's right. Jeremiah, what's the last thing you remember?"

"What..." The man tried to look down at his body, but couldn't really move well enough.

"It's a long story, and I promise I'll help you with that. But what do you remember? About me?"

The man closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Grant?"

Bruce felt tears prick the back of his eyelids but he forced them away. "Yes. I offered you a grant, Jeremiah. I'm going to get the doctor, okay? You rest."

"Hmm." 

Bruce backed away from the bed in utter confusion. This couldn't possibly be happening.

"B-bruce?" The man's eyes were open again, tracking Bruce past the end of the bed.

"Yes, Jeremiah?" Bruce asked, hopeful and heartsick in equal measure. 

A raw, tired whisper was the response.

"Thanks."


End file.
